


Under His Red Wings

by RenkonNairu



Series: The Fall Of... [3]
Category: He-Man and the Masters of the Universe
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Angst, Bisexual Hordak, Bisexual Keldor, Evil Plans, Evil Training, F/M, Hordak is over 1000 years old, Keldor is like late 20s early 30s, M/M, Teacher/Student, but that's not as relevant, origin of Skeletor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:28:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29122659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenkonNairu/pseuds/RenkonNairu
Summary: Keldor is exiled from Eternos and makes his way to the Dark Hemisphere. There, he meets an infamous figure from Eternia's history and is shown ancient powers.
Relationships: Evil-Lyn/Keldor (He-Man), Keldor (He-Man)/Hordak (She-Ra)
Series: The Fall Of... [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136825
Comments: 25
Kudos: 10





	1. Dark Hemisphere

…and so, Keldor became an outcast. Wandering throughout Eternia, alone and without purpose.

Exiled from Eternos City for the attempted murder of his brother, Keldor was only allowed to take what could be carried. Either by Keldor himself, or loaded on the back of his familiar, the Dylinx, Panthor. He was not given lands to oversee or an income from the crown, but was instead cast out in shame, a black spot on the name of his House. 

Keldor bartered for passage on a ship that was already voyaging to trade goods from the Dark Hemisphere. The ship carried him over the Harmony Sea and away from the Plains. 

Standing on the deck, he watched the fertile green coast shrink away. The day was bright and sunny, the water peaceful. Perfect weather for the ship to set sail. But inside, Keldor felt neither peaceful nor bright. He was convinced that his brother conspired to steal his crown from him. That Randor had stolen the future of his House and usurped the birthright that was meant for him. But he would have his revenge. Keldor vowed it. 

As he stood there, leaning against the taffrail of the ship, watching the Plains -and the throne of Eternos- draw ever farther and farther away from him, Keldor vowed that he would make Randor feel the exact same loss that he felt. 

The journey was equally as peaceful as their departure. The Harmony Sea was very accurately named. The tides were steady, the currents calm, the winds consistent. 

They reached their destination a short three days after setting sail. 

Coming to dock on a curve of the continent, where the landscape coiled into a natural harbor. They tied off at a small birth belonging to an even smaller town between the Dunes of Doom to the west, and the Burning Sands to the north. 

There wasn’t much on the Dunes of Doom. Unlike the Harmony Sea, their name was not accurate. The Dunes of Doom weren’t dunes at all, but a range of hard sharp hills, more rock than soil, with razor sharp peaks that slanted upwards like the blades of a thousand earthly words. It was hard land. Impossible to farm. 

But not impossible to mine. That was the only reason anyone even bothered to try settling near the Dunes of Doom. For the mines. Mostly gold. Something merchants were always happy to move. 

The Burning Sands, however, were very accurately named. Pockets of gas trapped under the shifting landscape building in pressure until it burst up through the sand in a jet. The highly volatile gas was ignited by the desert’s heat the moment it broke the surface, sending plumes of fire into the air. Burning Sands, very accurate. 

It was equally impossible to farm the Burning Sands. But the highly volatile gas was valuable as a fuel for Wind Raiders and Sky Sleds. 

The ship unloaded crates of foodstuffs from the plains. Barley, wheat, vegetables, and fruits, herbs for teas, and spices for flavor. In exchange, they expected to fill their hulls with raw gold ore, or already smelted bricks, and canisters of harvested gas, to be traded up north for silks and velvets, that could be taken back to the plains and sold in Eternos. 

Keldor got off in the small town. 

“Carful out there.” One of the crew called to him, as Keldor was leading Panthor down the gangplank. 

Keeping a tight hand on the lead more for the comfort of those around him rather than any fear that Panthor could not behave in a crowded harbor. Keldor looked up at the crewman shouting at him and saw it was the First Mate, a Beastmen with a boar’s tusks and a fox’s triangle ears. He, Keldor, and one insignificant cabin boy were the only non-humans on the voyage. 

“Old Gods stalk the wastes of the Dark Hemisphere.” They finished. 

“There’s no such thing as ‘old gods’!” Shouted a young deck cadet with clipboard that was tallying the cargo as it was unloaded. They were human, pale skinned and golden haired. Probably from Eternos, or somewhere else on the Plains, if their accent was anything to go on. “There’s only the one Goddess. All other gods are just her different Aspects, or else were representations of her before we became advanced enough to comprehend her true nature.”

The First Mate shot them a dirty look. “Fancy words for a cadet! Why don’t you go become a priest then!”

Keldor walked away. 

He did not care about the Goddess, or Old Gods, or whatever other superstitious nonsense people believed. He was a sorcerer and understood that there was powerful magic in Eternia. The very atmosphere of the planet was infused with power. The aether of the air. But there was no intelligence behind it. No divine hand that moved it. The Goddess was an idea that brought people comfort, and helped parents control children, but that’s all gods were. Something people made up to tell each other in the dark and feel less afraid. 

Keldor did not stop in the small port town. He pressed on, heading north east, threading his way between the Burning Sands and Dunes of Doom, not wanting to cross either, but also wanting to cover as much ground as he could before night fall. 

Upon its first impressions, the Dark Hemisphere was a little disappointing and did not live up to its name. It was not a lifeless wasteland. The port town Keldor just left not withstanding, there were tiny patches of scrub grass here and there, and every now and again, Keldor would see a sudden movement in the grass or hear a hiss in the sand. Tiny creatures slithering to get out from under his boots. There was life in the Dark Hemisphere. 

And it wasn’t even all that dark! Just a little overcast. A light gray haze lingering over the land like the sky before a rain. 

Except it did not rain. 

There was no water in the hazy cloud cover. They were ash clouds, not rain clouds. Rolling over the land from any one of the multiple volcanos that dotted the continent. 

It was lucky that they weren’t rain clouds, because when night did fall, they made camp in an abandoned hut. It’s support beams collapsed by time and its roof caved in. But the four walls remained solid enough. Keldor slept with his back propped up against one wall, his cape wrapped around him for warmth, Panthor curled up next to him. 

He was halfway between sleep and waking when he heard something, not quite a voice, but a whispering on the air. Beckoning, as if wanting to lead him somewhere. But Keldor didn’t heed it. He had another destination in mind when coming to the Dark Hemisphere, and when he woke, he assumed the beckoning feeling in the dark was nothing more than a dream. 

He continued heading east, making his way around the Dunes of Doom. The Dunes ran the whole length of the southern coast, until they finally ended at an active volcano. Black smoke billowed from its peak, and glowing red lava slithered down its slopes. 

Keldor tore pieces off of his cape, wrapping one over his own nose and mouth, and the other over Panthor’s nose to keep from breathing in the black smoke. 

As they passed the volcano, moving around its northern slope, Keldor felt the beckoning again. Some magical call sent through the aether, making him wonder if where he was going was really worth crossing the harsh landscape of the Dark Hemisphere to get there. Things were so hard to the east. Dry, and hot, and difficult to cross. Why not come back west? Why not come more north? The land is easier to cross and there might be rewards for those that are bold enough to earn them. 

But Keldor pressed on. It wasn’t just a place he was heading to. It was a person. One specific person. The only person he knew in the Dark Hemisphere. His only reason for coming to his hellish wasteland. 

Keldor could see the desert of Zalesia by the time he reached the bank of the Blood River. 

It was an expanse of rolling sand, and oddly sunny for the Dark Hemisphere. The winds blowing in from the Ocean of Gnarl blew all the soot and noxious smoke of the volcanos to the west and away from the desert. The sun shone bright on the sands of Zalesia just on the other side of the river. 

And somewhere in those sunny sands were the ruins of the city of Zalesia, and in those ruins was Evelyn Powers. 

Keldor and Panthor camped again on the banks of the Blood River, deciding to find a way to cross it after they were both rested. 

There were no bridges built across it, nor where there any ferries that could be paid to carry them across. There was not much in the way of civilization in the Dark Hemisphere. Finally, Keldor had to come to the conclusion that he and Panthor would have to ford it. 

They walked the length of the river until they found a segment where the water flowed slowly and smoothly to cross. 

After that, it was not hard to find the ruins of Zalesia. 

Once he was actually in the desert, he could feel the currents of aether as they ebbed and flowed. Spiraling around the only place of true power in the shifting sands. 

From the outside, it looked like nothing more than a gigantic ram’s head rising up out of the sands. As Keldor drew closer, he could see a gate concealed just below the ram’s chin. A double gate, big enough for carts or other large vehicles to pass through. Clearly the main gate into the city when it still thrived. 

Keldor forced the gate open and slipped inside out of the heat. 

Inside it was very dark. Only the ram’s head gate seemed to be above ground. The rest of the city being buried underground by time and the winds shoveling sand on top of it. 

Keldor stroked Panthor’s violet fur. The cat’s vision would be better than his own in the dark ruins. Not just his eyes, but his nose too. 

“Find Lyn for me.” Keldor commanded the cat. 

The Dylinx gave a feline chirp of acknowledgment then hopped off through the corridors. He remembered what Master’s mate smelled like. He could find her. 

Conjuring a ball of witchlight to illuminate the path for him, Keldor also delved into the ruins. Though much more slowly than his cat. Testing each step on the ancient stairs before putting his weight on it. 

Keldor just reached the base of his first flight of stairs when a specter appeared before him. 

Tall, its head almost reaching up to the passage’s ceiling. A white head devoid of a face or hair, just a blank whiteness with slight indentations where the eyes used to be, and a low slope that at one time had been his nose. The apparition was wreathed in curling mists, and held a staff. An ancient looking staff with a decorative ram’s skull atop it, the horns tinted gold and spiraling out from the sides. The apparition blocked Keldor’s path, preventing him from delving deeper into the ruins of Zalesia. 

“Who dares trespass in the ancient and forbidden city of Zalesia!?“ It bellowed at him. 

Keldor did take a step back, but out of surprise, not fear. Lyn had told him about her father. “You must be King Nikolas.”

“I-!" No one has called me that in a thousand years.” The specter informed him, sounding oddly annoyed and decidedly less intimidating because of it. “I am the Faceless One, stripped of my identity and cursed with immortality for commanding the gods and razing cities, I-“

Keldor started picking at his nails, not impressed. He felt like he heard all this before, although this was his first time ever coming to Zalesia. But he was married to the Faceless One’s daughter, and the immortal King was exactly as she described him. Given to theatrics and hamming up the drama. 

“Is Lyn here?” Keldor decided to cut the ghost off mid-monologue. “I came to see her.”

The curling mists coiling around the specter receded, and the Faceless One shrank down to the average height of a human male on Eternia. The indents where his eyes used to be were now on the same level as Keldor’s own eyes. His face remained non-existent and blank. Just the impression of where a face had once been, features washed away like the desert sands against stone. The Faceless One glared at the intruder, as if trying to burn a hole through him with the intensity of newfound dislike alone. 

“You must be Keldor.” The Faceless One finally concluded. “Lyn told me about you.”

“So, she is here.” Keldor concluded. 

The Faceless One growled, a low feral sound from the back of his throat (assuming he still had a throat), the mists coiling around him again, slithering between them, making Keldor feel inexplicably cold. 

“My daughter does not want to see you.” The Faceless One informed him, voice a low warning. Just to be sure the message was clear, the Faceless One tipped his staff so that the ram’s head was poised, the skull glaring directly at Keldor. At this close range, it was impossible for any spell to miss. 

“I would prefer it if Lyn told me herself.” Keldor tapped a finger against the ram’s forehead, tracing it down the snout of the skull, refusing to be intimidated. “Is this the Havoc Staff? It’s not quite as grand as she described. I wonder if it’s even as powerful.”

“Powerful enough to wipe you off the face of Eternia.” The Faceless One promised him. 

He seemed serious. Very eager for Keldor to give him a reason to erase him from the face of the planet. 

Keldor was debating calling the Faceless One’s bluff when Panthor came running back up to him, Lyn not far behind the large cat. “What are you doing here, Keldor?”

His face broke into a smile. His first real smile since leaving Eternos. His first real smile since trying to kill Randor. They might have their problems, but she was his partner and Keldor was genuinely happy to see her. 

“Lyn!” He tried to push past the Faceless One to get close to her, but the specter just planted his feet and banged the end of his staff on the step, blocking his path. 

“Lyn,” began the Faceless One, “do you want to see this man?”

For half a second, in the dim light, it looked as if Lyn was going to say ‘no’ she did not want to see him. Keldor crossed an entire content, more than half of the Dark Hemisphere to get to her. He didn’t know what he’d do if she turned him away. Probably react badly. He’d been reacting badly to everything since his crown was taken from him. 

But then Lyn heaved a sigh. As if already exasperated with him. “Might as well hear what he has to say.”

Lyn waved her father off. 

The Faceless One turned another eyeless glare at Keldor, the featureless indents where his eyes used to be meeting Keldor’s own eyes. 

“Not a thing transpires within Zalesia that I do not know about.” He warned. His way of saying 'don't mess with my daughter under my roof, punk!' Then the Faceless One vanished in a swirl of mists and a puff of cool air. 

Keldor and Lyn stood there, staring at each other for a moment longer. 

Then Panthor rubbed his feline face against Lyn, registering his pleasure at seeing her again, and making sure that his affection for her was known. Panthor might be Keldor’s familiar and steed, but aside from Keldor, Evelyn Powers was his favorite two-legger. 

Lyn scratched the sides of his face and under his chin, making sure that the giant cat understood that she appreciated his fuzzy affections. Her nails raking through his fur. Master’s mate always gave the best scratchies. 

“Lyn-“ Keldor began, trying to pull her attention back to him. 

“C’mon, we can talk in the library.” She led him farther down into the buried ruins. Down uneven stairs and through narrow corridors. Until she pushed open a door with a ram’s head over the frame. 

The room was lit with witchlight, the soft pale glow illuminating walls of bookshelves. Ancient tomes, all first additions, some the only additions and never read by anyone but the Faceless One or his daughter. There was a pentagonal table in the middle of the room, also carved with the head of a ram. An earthenware teapot sat on the table with only one teacup next to it, and an open book rested beside a chair that had been pushed away. 

Apparently, Keldor’s arrival had interrupted Lyn’s reading. 

She sat back down at her chair in front of her book and did not call in a second teacup for him. Her way of subtly indicating that she did not intend for him to stay. 

“Well, have you found him?” She asked. 

Keldor froze in the doorway, his head tilting downward in shame. He was speaking more to the ram hooves of the table legs when he admitted. “Still no trace.”

Lyn turned her back to him, her attention seemingly fixing back on her book, but she was not actually reading. “Then why are you here?”

“Lyn, I need you.” He told her, repeating his same words from when she left him in the first place. Just hours before he tried to murder his brother, she left him. Just minutes after his father took his crown from him, she left him. “I’ve been exiled from Eternos.”

She did look up at that. Turning back around to face him, fixing him with her violet eyes that flashed with sudden confusion, then narrowed with suspicion. “You can’t be exiled from Eternos, you’re the future King.”

“I was the future King.” He admitted. “But because of- -what happened, Father stripped me of my title and named Randor heir over me. I’m sure Randor meant it that way. I’m sure he’s the one responsible. He did this to us, Lyn! I know it! He took everything from me -us! I need you to help me take our revenge. Randor has to pay for this! He has to pay for our- He has to pay.”

The corners of Lyn’s mouth turned down in a frown. She got to know Keldor’s brother fairly well when they were in Eternos. He was a loud, enthusiastic man, and did not hesitate to share his thoughts or opinions. Randor did not strike her as the type to scheme secret conspiracies or harm and betray his immediate family. It was easy for Keldor to lay their troubles at his brother’s feet. Randor benefitted from their tragedy, and Randor was a tangible thing that could be seen and killed. But Lyn was sure Randor was not the source of their fall from power. 

“So not only have you not found him, but you’re no longer going to be King. So you have nothing to offer me.” Lyn concluded. 

Their partnership was, after all, just a partnership. A contract of equal exchange. She gave him what he wanted from her in their partnership. When he was King and ruler of Eternia, he was supposed to give her a throne of her own. To rule beside him as his Queen. The throne was big enough for too, and Evelyn desired power. But if Keldor was no longer going to become King, then he could no longer hold up his end of the bargain. He had nothing to offer her. She had no use for him. 

Turning back around, Lyn faced her book. Once again pretending to read. “I’ve heard what you came here to say. You may go now.”

“But, Lyn, you-“ Keldor began to protest. 

But he stopped when he felt a gust of cold air on the back of his neck and curling mist coiled around his shoulders. Keldor turned around to see that the Faceless One had materialized behind him, holding the ram’s head Havoc Staff in his hand. 

“She said she’s done with you.” The Faceless One repeated. “It’s time for you to leave.”

Panthor growled. 

“And your familiar as well.” Added the Faceless One. “My daughter doesn’t want you here. You will never be allowed back within Zalesia unless you are invited.”

To punctuate this statement, the Faceless One tapped his staff on the ground, and the ruins answered. Each stone giving a little rumble, rolling out from the point where the staff hit, and echoing throughout the chambers and corridors of Zalesia. 

The rolling echo hadn’t even died down before Keldor felt a change in the air. A distinct tang in the aether within Zalesia that made Keldor feel uncomfortable. Like he did not belong in the ancient city. 

“Now, will you leave on your own, or shall I escort you out.” Asked the Faceless One. 

Keldor turned to Lyn, but her back was to him again. She was done and had no further use for him. He could no longer give her the power she desired. Before he could have her back at his side, he needed more power. Power that he could share, power enough that he could offer her. 

Reluctantly, he brushed past the Faceless one, beckoning to Panthor to follow him. 

The Faceless One escorted him out of Zalesia anyway. Following Keldor back up the stairs, making sure he took the correct passages, all the way back to the ram’s head gate. 

The Faceless One could not cross the stone. He couldn’t set foot outside Zalesia. He stopped just inside the gate, still wreathed in the shadows of the passage. 

Outside, the sky had faded from sunny and cloudless blue, to the muted lavender of twilight. The sun going down over the Blood River to the west. Keldor could see the haze of the volcanos rolling over the land. The winds of the Gnarl Ocean pushed the clouds and vapors inland, making a wall of dark clouds to block out the sunset. It was already dark on that side of the continent. 

“Be careful, Keldor.” 

He turned around to look at the specter still lurking within the gate. His tone did not imply concern, but rather was taunting. 

“The rest of the world might have marched on and forgotten, but here in the Dark Hemisphere, the old powers flow wild, and old villains are not as dead and gone as your histories might teach you.”

The warning had a similar ring to it as the one the superstitious First Mate of the ship gave him. But issuing from the mouthless head of an immortal King from the Preternia era, it sounded far less silly. There were old things that still lingered in the Dark Hemisphere, the Faceless One was an example of just one. 

Looking out over the shadowed landscape, growing darker with the setting sun, Keldor wondered what other forgotten and ancient powers he might find in the Dark Hemisphere. 

And Keldor could still feel that whisper through the air. A beckoning in the aether, calling him to some other place. Somewhere near. In the Dark Hemisphere. Not Zalesia. Stronger. Darker. More powerful. 

Keldor needed power. 

Since Lyn did not want him anymore, there was nothing for him in Zalesia. And he didn’t know of anywhere else in the Dark Hemisphere. Following the power that was literally calling for him seemed like the best option available. 

“I will be back for Lyn.” He promised the Faceless One. 

“Only if she wishes you to come back for her.” The Faceless One reminded him. 

Keldor just continued to glare at that featureless landscape where a face used to be. The Faceless One might be immortal, but it was a curse of immortality. Not immortality born from power. The Faceless One’s only real power that his staff. That ram’s skull with its gold-tinted spiral horns. 

“Perhaps when I return, I’ll take your Havoc Staff with me as well.” Keldor added. 

There was a beat of silence between them. The wind shifted the sand between them. 

Then, “Lyn was right. I don’t like you.” The Faceless One turned. The ram’s head gate slamming shut behind him. The city closed and sealed to Keldor. 

He turned his back to the gate, climbed up on Panthor, and headed north-west. Following that call he felt in the aether.


	2. Temple of Hordak

Heading north-west was much easier than it was traveling south-east. Once Keldor and Panthor were back across the Blood River the land was flat and firm. No uneven and sharp hills like the Dunes of Doom, and no sands that shifted underfoot like the desert that surrounded Zalesia. 

After first landing on the dark continent, it took Keldor four days to cross it on foot. Heading back, following that wordless call through the aether, Keldor reached his destination in only two. 

A tall hill with sharp slopes, spires of rock climbing up into the murky sky. The entrance was a tall, narrow arch carved out of the side of the hill. A pair of batwings flared open was set above the arch, with busts of some kind of bat-like monster carved into the sides of the arch. The features of the carvings were indistinct, having been weathered away by time. Surrounding the hill was a mote of lava. Hot and glowing red. The only crossing over the lava, a narrow bridge of stone that slithered and wove unevenly from the solid ground on which Keldor and Panthor stood, all the way to the opening of the narrow arch. 

Some kind of ancient temple, Keldor decided. A temple to a bat-god. Or else the stronghold of some long-forgotten bat-like ruler. Amazingly, Eternia had more than one of those. 

Choosing his steps carefully on the uneven and rocky terrain, Keldor drew closer to the narrow bridge. Some ancient mason had tried to cut steps into the path, but they were poorly made. As uneven and unsure footed as the natural rock of the land around the mote. 

Turning back to Panthor momentarily, Keldor gave the giant cat an affectionate stroke up the snout. “Wait here.” He commanded. “If I die, go back to Zalesia. Lyn will take care of you. It was me the Faceless One banished, not you.”

The Dylinx gave a feline groan of disagreement, but made no move of actual protest. Panthor sat down on the rocks in a loaf of dark fur. 

Keldor stepped onto the bridge. Choosing his footing carefully. Testing each poorly chiseled segment before resting his weight on it. Less than a quarter of the bridge had a railing, and so Keldor had to trust in his own balance. There was nothing to catch him should the poorly cut steps cause him to lose his footing. He would plummet from the narrow bridge into the lava mote below, and that would be the end of Prince Keldor of the House of Miro. 

Heat rose from the lava below. So hot it made waves in the air and plaid tricks on the eyes. Keldor was sweating from the heat. It made his hair stick to his neck, and tickled down the side of his face. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Keldor set foot on the other side. Almost within the narrow arch of the entrance. 

He turned around and waved at Panthor to follow him. The cat was much more graceful, and much quicker getting over the narrow stone bridge. Moving fast and sure-pawed. Even wearing his saddle and carrying all their baggage, the cat still had an easier time of it. 

Keldor stroked his snout again when they reunited on the other side. Then turned his attention back to the… temple for lack of a better word. 

“What do suppose this place is?” He asked the cat, not expecting the Dylinx to answer. 

Panthor did not answer, not in words. Some species of giant cats on Eternia could learn to speak, but Dylinx were not one of them. Panthor did growl, low in his chest. A feline sound of warning, the fur of his tail puffing out as if enemies were near. 

Whatever was inside that tall, narrow archway, Panthor thought it was dangerous. 

But Keldor was sure this was where the wordless call in the aether was coming from. And now that they were here, it wasn’t just the beckoning whisper on the wind that Keldor felt. As he sensed with Zalesia in the desert, the currents of Eternia’s power spiraled around this place. Flowing like rivers converging, but then ebbing like the ocean tides on rock. Power encircling the place, but also being kept out. Repelled like magical weather stripping. 

Dangerous or not, Keldor decided that he would go inside. Even if this place had not been calling to him, the currents of power that spiraled around it made it a point of interest. Above all else, Keldor needed power. Now, more than ever. And this place clearly had power. 

“Stay out here if you don’t like it.” Keldor told his cat. 

He went inside. 

Inside the arch was a short flight of stairs that ended in a set of equally narrow double doors. How they could make double doors so narrow was mind boggling. Each side was practically a single thin slat, and carved with the wings of a bat, and when Keldor pushed them open, the narrow slats gave the illusion of the batwings flapping. 

It was much, much wider inside. The narrow entry opened up into a wide chamber. 

And Keldor could feel the call so much stronger now. Now that he was actually inside the place of power. No longer a whisper on the air, it was a bellowing in his bones. ‘Come, come to me! I need you. You’re the only one who can-!’ And the currents of power outside could be felt as well. Like waves crashing on rocks by the sea, beating against whatever magical barrier or seal kept the power at bay. The pounding of power and the bellowing of the call together was almost too much for Keldor to bear and he put his hands over his ears, even though it was not a tangible sound that could be blocked. 

“Show yourself!” He shouted to the empty temple. “Who calls me here!?”

On the far side of the main chamber, Keldor found another stair leading up and he followed it to what looked like a throne room. Another wide chamber, freestanding columns and vaulted ceilings. The top of each column adorn with the wings of a bat. At the end of the chamber was a dais, very similar to the one back in the throne room of Eternos. Only instead of an ornate chair, atop this dais there was only a brazier. 

The call was so much louder now. It blocked out all other physical sense. All Keldor could focus on was that brazier. Getting to it. Lighting it. It was like a kind of tunnel vision. 

He was aware of the temple stones under his boots, and the shadows of batwings as he passed under them. But he did not feel the stones, he did not see the wings. His whole world had suddenly become that one singular point, the brazier that was the focal of power. 

It was an almost trance-like state. 

Finally, Keldor stood atop the dais right in front of the brazier, a spell to conjure fire already half-cast and alive in his hands. He dropped the small fireball into the brazier and it ignited centuries old oil. 

So many things happened at once. 

A plume of fire shot up from the brazier, so close it almost singed off Keldor’s eyebrows. Behind him, torches held in sconces between the batwings lit up, washing the throne room in red light. And the waves of power outside grew louder, more intense. Crashing against the barrier that kept them at bay, pounding in Keldor’s ears and in his bones. So intense he was surprised the tones of the walls were not trembling in their mortar. 

And then… the fire in the brazier changed. 

The orange glow of the flames turned a vivid primary red. The tongues of fire bending and turning in on themselves to form a figure. Hard to make out details, but with a dome head and large bat-like ears, wide shoulders that came to a narrow V at the waist, and legs that disappeared back into flames. 

“Why have you called me here?” Keldor demanded of the figure. 

There was the beat of a pause as the figure in the flames regarded him. As if studying his strange intruder in his temple. Taking in Keldor’s travel worn clothes, and weather tossed hair. The blue skin and pointed ears that betrayed his Gar heritage, and the square jaw and thick facial hair that he inherited from his father’s bloodline. 

“I do not know who you are.” Confessed the figure in the flames, the statement sounding oddly wet and nasal for a being made of fire. And there was an odd little snort at the end to punctuate the statement. “I have been calling for centuries. You answered. Who are you?”

Keldor straightened his spine and threw his shoulders back, allowing what pride he still had to seep back into his voice when he announced, “I am Prince Keldor of the House of Miro, the rightful ruler of Eternia!”

“Hm.” The figure in the flames seemed somewhat unimpressed by this announcement. 

If this being dwelled within the Dark Hemisphere where ancient powers still danced over the land, maybe they had seen countless ‘rightful rulers of Eternia’ come and go. Eternia’s history was long and fraught, and there was barely ever a complete decade that was not marred by one kind of war or another. 

“Still, you were able to hear my call.” The figure in the flames concluded. “So you must have something of Grayskull’s blood within you.”

A tremor ran through Keldor at that statement. He did have his father’s chin, which seemed to be a hallmark of the Grayskull bloodline, but nobody else ever seemed to notice. All anyone else ever saw when they looked at him was his blue skin and pointed ears. His obviously non-human features, and King D’Vann Grayskull was definitely human. Keldor’s mixed blood was one thing that threw his claim to the throne into question. (One thing of several.)

It was strangely validating for this bat-like specter to recognize the power and nobility in his blood after only just a short first meeting. 

Still, Keldor was headful of the warnings he received. Old gods stalk the Dark Hemisphere. Ancient powers run wild. Vanquished villains are not as far gone as one might think. 

“Why would you need someone with the blood of Grayskull?” Keldor asked. 

“Why have you traveled so far from his seat of rule to hear my call?” Countered the specter. 

Some part of Keldor that still felt pride didn’t want to answer. He wanted to remain silent and test the specter’s patience. Make the figure in the flames answer first. Why should he offer any more information to this nameless spirit that had not even given him a name? Keldor glared at the oil burning in the bottom of the brazier and wondered if he just smothered it, the specter would vanish. Braziers had lids usually, right?

Perhaps the figure in the flames sense the direction of his thoughts, because his tone changed. Gentler, more cajoling. Meaning to persuade Keldor, rather than demand answers from him. “I only ask, because I don’t even know what the world is like outside anymore.” He confessed. “I have been here for what feels like centuries and don’t know how the world has changed. No heir of Grayskull has ever answered my call before. I want to know why.”

Why? This spirit wanted to know why! Because his wife left him, his brother betrayed him, his father disowned him, and his son-! Keldor cut that thought to a screeching halt. He tried not to think about his son. 

“You don’t know what it’s like outside?” Keldor said instead. “Outside, this temple of yours is in the middle of nowhere. In a darkened landscape dotted with volcanos who’s vapors block out the sun. Your temple is surrounded by a mote of lava and the only crossing is a narrow and poorly cut walkway that one has to be very nimble and have good balance to cross. No one has been here for centuries because this place is blasted near impossible to get to safely, and you have not yet shown me a compelling reason why someone would want to!”

“And yet, you have come here.” Concluded the specter. “You must not have much left to lose.”

Keldor felt the color rise in his face and wondered if the spirit in the fire could see his cheeks turn purple. His suggestion rang truer than the specter might guess. 

“You have suffered great loss, Keldor of the House of Miro.” They continued, having found the right thread to pull him in. “…and you have such great potential.”

“Potential for what?” Keldor was quick to ask. “You still haven’t told me who you are.”

“As an heir of Grayskull, potential for anything you want.” The specter in the flames. 

Keldor wanted a great many things. He wanted his son back. He wanted his wife back. He wanted his crown back. Most of all, he wanted his crown back. Keldor lived his whole life under the belief that he would one day rule all of Eternia as its King. It was all he’d ever known. His sole purpose in life. Be ruler of Eternia. But his father, and his scheming brother Randor took that from him! 

Keldor wanted to be King more than anything else. 

“And you can give me what I want?” He was still skeptical. 

“I cannot -give- you anything.” The figure informed him. “But if you free me, I can teach you how to take the things you want.”

That did sound very appealing. Free this ancient entity from Eternia’s far-flung past and be taught magics and gain powers that have not been seen since the Preternia era. Keldor would be lying if he didn’t admit that he was interested. 

“What do I need to do in order to free you?” He asked. 

“You carry the blood of Grayskull in your veins.” The specter told him. “Open a vein and drip your blood into the fire.”

That sounded very easy. 

Keldor had become suspicious of things that seemed too easy. 

He turned from the brazier, walking away from the dais. “I shall think about it.”

As long as that ancient sealed spirit remained trapped where it was, Keldor was in control. He didn’t plan on resurrecting anything before he knew what it was. He heeded the Faceless One’s warning. When the nameless, unimportant sailor warned him of the fell powers that stalked the Dark Hemisphere, he didn’t think much of it. Just silly superstition. But when an immortal equally as ancient as the things he’s warning you about tells you to be careful, you better be fucking carful! 

Keldor intended to explore this structure in its entity before he freed the one that was trapped here. 

They still hadn’t given Keldor their name. 

“Where are you going?” Demanded the figure in the flames. 

Keldor did not pause. He continued walking away. But he did flip his hair over one shoulder and turn his head to look back. “What concern is it of yours where I go? You’re trapped unless I choose to release you.”

“Come back here!” The fires shouted after him. 

But Keldor was already walking out of the throne room. 

He poked his head back out the main arch to call Panthor in. There was nothing dangerous here. Just some old spirit trapped in the throne room that couldn’t do anything more than scream at them. 

“Do not walk away from this, Keldor!” They heard through the double doors that Keldor had left open. “I can show you powers you have never dreamed! Free me and Eternia will bend! That is what you desire, isn’t it? Oh, ‘Rightful Ruler’!”

Yes. That was what Keldor wanted. But Keldor also wanted to know what he was dealing with before he went and made any deals with any devil. 

With Panthor at his side, Keldor wondered through the narrow corridors of the temple. Some parts having been built into the hill with brick and mortar, while other parts were chiseled out of the natural rock. In the lower levels, Keldor found what looked like a prehistoric smith, an old kitchen, and a storage chamber that was either a Preternian era meat larder… or else a dungeon. Keldor wasn’t sure. 

On the upper levels, Keldor found multiple empty but uniformed rooms running the length of one hall, probably barracks or sleeping cells for the long dead acolytes of this place. 

There was a library full of ancient books. But no one had bothered to place any preservation spells on them, and the first one Keldor touched crumbled into dust. 

There was a sorcerers’ workshop, with rusted tools, broken glass from an unknown source, and burn marks on all the walls and the floor. 

Across from the sorcerers’ workshop was an armory. Ancient axes and pikes, rusted beyond all use. Keldor tried to pull one from the rack, but it was stuck on too tight. The only use anyone would have for them now would be to melt them down and forge new weapons. 

The only weapon that looked in any kind of condition anywhere close to ‘working order’ was an all white crossbow. Keldor picked it up to examine it. The cable had long since rotted away, and Keldor didn’t see any bolts for it. He tossed it back on the wall hook and continued his exploration of the temple. 

Heading higher up, Keldor found a door that opened up onto a small outdoor area. Too big to be a balcony. Old marks that were long faded showed a red circle with measurement lines and points numeral painted inside. A training ring, Keldor decided. For combat drills and practicing kata. The long dead acolytes of this place were a warrior sect. 

Near the top, concealed behind the hill’s sharp peak, was a small observatory. A dome that opened, enough for a massive telescope to see out. 

Keldor tried looking through it, but the glass was warped from the heat of the lava that surrounded the temple. Not that he would have been able to see anything through it anyway. The haze in the air, the seemingly perpetual overcast of cloud cover, would have blocked any view of the stars Keldor could have gotten. 

And everywhere, at every level, were carvings of bat wings. Sometimes just the wings by themselves as with the decorative moldings in every pillar that held the place up. Sometimes with a screaming bat face between the wings, as was printed on almost every door. Sometimes full statues of a goddess with a mostly human body, wide round female hips, a bit of a belly, and large breasts, but with the screaming head and face of a bat, her arms leathery wings thrown open wide. 

‘Old gods…’ He remembered. Some ancient goddess no longer worshipped on Eternia. Or some Aspect of the one Goddess that society had progressed beyond the need for. 

But nothing that identified the spirit in the throne room. 

Keldor looked down at Panthor. “What do you think, cat?”

The Dylinx sat down, and just looked at his Master. He did not think they should have come here at all. He made that very clear outside. He puffed out his tail for gods sakes! Panthor didn’t even do that during the Great Unrest. But Master chose to come in and look around anyway. And now he was interested in the cat’s opinion. 

“Yeah, I used to think I knew history better too.” He answered, choosing to interpret Panthor’s look as voicing one of his own thoughts. 

If he had studied his Eternian history half as well as he thought he had, Keldor should be able to figure out who or what the spirit in the throne room was. A spirit trapped in a temple on the Dark Continent, and could only be released by the blood of Grayskull. That sounded like a thing he should have known about. 

If Lyn were with him, he could have just asked her. She knew far more about the Dark Continent than he did. Not just the Dark Continent, but its older history two. Lyn was raised by someone who had actually witnessed much of it. 

But Lyn wasn’t with him. She chose to remain in her ruined city, with her ghost of a father, and wallow. At least he was doing something to try and place them back in power! 

She would come back to him once he was ruling the planet. 

And once he was ruling the planet, he would have every resource at his disposal finally track down whatever Unnamed One took his- 

But Keldor wasn’t going to think about that. 

He found himself walking down the stairs on his way back to the throne room. 

The figure in the fire wasn’t shouting anymore. He was just standing in the brazier, arms crossed over his chest, looking impatient. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Keldor hadn’t really been looking for anything. He had just been looking. Trying to figure out what he was dealing with. All he had found was old junk in an abandoned temple. 

Crossing his own arms over his chest, mimicking the pose of the figure in the flames, Keldor looked up at him. He was still suspicious, but he also didn’t have any other ways to place himself back in power. 

“You need my blood to free you.” Keldor repeated. 

“Only the blood of King Grayskull or one of his heirs can free me.” Nodded the specter in the flames. 

“I am the only descendent of Grayskull here.” Keldor informed him. “You need me.”

There was a pause. 

Then, the figure asked cautiously, “What is your point?”

“If I free you, I’ll not be your servant or your minion.” Keldor announced. “You know nothing of the world as it is now, I was trained to rule it. You will continue to need me ever after my blood has freed you. You will make me your equal partner.”

“Are you… negotiating with me?” The voice issuing from the fire sounded genuinely confused. 

“No.” Keldor assured him. “You are not in a position to negotiate. I don’t need you; I can leave here and find my own path back to power. My claim to the throne is legitimate. I don’t need the knowledge of some long lost ghost no one’s ever heard of.”

“Never heard of-!” The figure in the brazier sounded so very insulted. 

“You, on the other hand, do need me.” Keldor continued. “You need me a lot. Without me, you’ll stay trapped in there. And who knows how long it’ll be before another down-on-his-luck descendent of Grayskull comes along for you.”

There was another pause as the figure on the flames just stared at him. “You’re rather mercenary, aren’t you.”

“Ha! You should meet my wife!” If this specter thought he was hard to negotiate with, they didn’t stand a chance against Evelyn Powers, last descendent of Zalesia. Lyn could be as stubborn as the ram over her city’s gate. 

Choosing to ignore the ‘wife’ comment, the figure in the flames finally nodded. He wanted out of his prison, and he didn’t know how long he would have to wait for another heir of Grayskull to wander by. 

“Partners then.” He agreed. “You will free me, and in return I’ll teach you what I know. But you won’t be my student, you’ll be my partner.”

Keldor could deal with that. 

He reached a hand over his shoulder to rake his thumb against one of the blades of his sword, opening the skin. Keldor held his hand over the brazier and squeezed his thumb. Three drops of blood fell into the fire before something happened. 

The flames grew higher and Keldor had to back away. Stepping down the dais to keep from getting burned. 

Outside, the currents of power in Eternia's aether beat against the walls. Then, whatever magical barrier was keeping them at bay finally broke, and the aether came crashing in. Filling the temple with waves of power. The red torches on the wall burned brighter, climbing from red to almost white light.

The brazier shook, rocking and shuddering as if something were trying to crawl out of it. But the fire was so big it was impossible for Keldor to see. 

Then, just as suddenly as it had erupted, the fire receded, almost going out completely, and a heavy body fell onto the steps of the dais with a groan. 

The throne room grew dimmer. The torches returning to their previous red glow. The only thing to illuminate them. Keldor stepped closer to the body. 

A mostly bald head, with just a mohawk of cobalt blue spines in place of hair. He had pointed ears, but not like Keldor’s which were tall and thin. They were shorter and pointed at both ends, the top of the shell, and the bottom of the lobe pointed, giving the ears a vague wing shape. 

His face was down, but the back of his head and ears were covered in pale white skin, but the neck was more of a steely blue-gray. As were the shoulders and one arm. The other arm appeared to be some kind of ancient prosthetic, running off of magic instead of technology. Keldor saw runes and glyphs etched into the metal of the shoulder’s ball joint, and the die-cast pieces of the forearm. 

Abruptly, without warning, that ancient magical prosthetic arm lanced out and grabbed Keldor’s wrist. 

Heaving another groan, the body pulled itself up into a sitting position using Keldor for support. A gear on magical prosthetic popped off under the strain. 

It made a CLINK on the floor, sounding oddly loud. Both Keldor and the newly materialized bat-eared figure watched it roll across the temple stones before spiraling to a stop almost near the door. 

Panthor came up and sniffed the magical gear. Then batted at it as if it were his new toy. 

“I’m gonna need a new arm.” The figure muttered, speaking more to the wider throne room than to Keldor. “Don’t suppose, as my new partner, you could help me with that?”

“I still don’t even know who you are.” Keldor reminded him. 

He gave a short clip of a self-deprecating laugh. “I doubt you would have freed me if I told you my name right away.” 

“And that name is…” Keldor pressed, unimpressed and unconcerned. He was literally holding this guy up. He had one arm and a prosthetic that looked broken to all the hells. He was tired, and maybe a little disoriented from just returning to the physical world. How dangerous could this guy be?

“Your histories would name me as the leader of the Evil Horde that took control of Central Tower.” When this preamble earned nothing more than a raised eyebrow from Keldor, he announced a bit louder than was nessisary, “I am Lord Hordak!”


	3. Leaving Eternos

There was a very noticeable change in the city of Eternos after Prince Keldor was exiled. 

Perhaps not everyone was consciously aware of it, but everyone felt it. No one more than the non-human residents of the city. 

Kronis noticed it in the way a person might clutch their bag tighter to their body as they passed him on a public walkway. Or how a parent walking with their children would cross the street entirely to avoid having to pass by him all. Small things. Nothing overt, nothing aggressive, certainly nothing violent. Just things that were noticeably different from when they thought their next King would be Gar. 

He met up with Raqquill outside a café in one of the nicer neighborhoods of the city. 

The Beastmen smiled at him and passed Kronis a coffee in a paper cup. “No dairy, just one sugar.”

“One day, I’m gonna regret letting you people get to know me so well.” Kronis muttered, but he accepted the offered coffee anyway. He held it in his prosthetic hand, which was unbothered by the heat that managed to seep past the thin cardboard cup-sleeve. 

“How’ve you been?” Raq asked as he sipped his own drink. 

“Ugh. I fucking hate this city! That’s how I’ve been!” Kronis announced -loudly. Several people looked up from their café tables, alarmed by the sound of souting, and concerned to see that it was two non-humans. Kronis lowered his voice back to its normal volume. “You know what they did after Keldor got himself banished? They tossed my business!”

Before the war that came to be called ‘the Great Unrest’, Kronis was a smuggler. He dealt in the moving and selling of contraband over borders or between enemy lines. After he helped Prince Keldor in a plot that eventually leads to the defeat of Count Marzo, Kronis’ criminal past was pardoned, and his business legitimized. His title shifted from ‘smuggler’ to ‘shipping manager’. 

After Keldor lost his fucking mind when his kid disappeared and tried to murder his brother in front of a palace guard as witness, Kronis’ status as a ‘known criminal’ was revisited, and his warehouses searched for any evidence of ‘conspiring to assassinate Prince Randor’. 

But Raqquill already knew that. He was also picked up by the Guard and interrogated for any foreknowledge that might incriminate him as a co-conspirator. As if Keldor flipping his shit could have possibly been ‘pre-meditated’. What a fucking joke!

It was because King Miro just didn’t like non-humans. That was it plain and simple. It was a long-standing rumor that Miro hated the fact that he had a half-non-human child, hated it even more that that non-human child was his first born and heir. Miro might like to fuck non-human women, he might fetishize Gar’s pointed ears and blue skin, but that didn’t mean he actually cared about or even respected the Gar people. Keldor was an embarrassment to him. Now that Keldor was out of the picture, Miro was cleaning house. 

“I fucking hate this city.” Kronis said again, taking a sip of his coffee. “I should just go back to the Burning Sands. Nobody gave a shit about anything there. There was no society and no rules! It was a lawless wasteland, and it was paradise!”

“You wouldn’t go back to Anwat Gar?” Raq asked. 

“Fuck no!” Kronis shouted again. Some people in the café’s outdoor seating moved their chairs farther away from them. “The sticks up everyone’s asses there are even bigger than here! There’s a reason I left. You wanna go back to the Vine Jungle?”

“Was thinking about it.” Raq confessed. 

Kronis was about to take another sip of his coffee but paused, lowering the cup he stared at his friend. “You wanna leave the city?”

Raqquill Raqazz was a Beastmen, and because of that, he had the ability to understand most animals. After the Great Unrest, he became the Palace’s Beast Tamer, taking care of all many and varied animals the palace kept. Mounts for the Guard, hunting birds, even Keldor’s familiar, Panthor before the cat left with him to exile. It was a nice government job that offered good pay and came with benefits. If Raq wanted to leave it, then things must be worse than Kronis originally thought. 

Then again, it could just be that Raqquill thought of Keldor as a friend and after he left things just weren’t the same anymore. 

A shrug was the only answer Raq gave. So it was left up to Kronis’ imagination. 

“Shit.” He muttered to his coffee cup. 

“Eternos isn’t the same.” The Beastmen admitted. “And I don’t like this new Eternos Miro is making. Randor seems nice, I guess, but I don’t know him and I don’t know what kind of King he’ll be when Miro finally takes his Final Journey. I liked how things were when Keldor was preparing to take the throne.”

Kronis ran a thumb over the steam-vent of his coffee cup. “Keldor would’ve been the first non-human King Eternia has had since Eternia became one nation.”

“I was really looking forward to that.” Raq admitted. 

“Would have been nice to have a Gar in power.” Kronis confessed. “Even if that dumbass hafu doesn’t know a damn thing about actually being Gar.”

They both shared a sigh. 

Raq opened his mouth, as if to say something more, but didn’t get the chance to. Before even a syllable could come out, they were interrupted by two members of the Eternos Guard approaching them. 

“Is there a problem here?” Asked one of the Guards. 

Raq blinked at them confused. “No. No problem that I’m aware of.”

“We got a report of two dangerous looking men having a fight.” Announced the other Guard. 

“I’ve been standing here a while and I haven’t seen anyone.” Raq informed them in his best ‘this is helping’ voice. He didn’t seem to get what was actually going on. 

But Kronis did. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Raq! These palace-packaged action figures think we’re the dangerous men having a fight.”

The Beastmen only blinked at him, then at the Guards. Not understanding at all, and confused beyond reason as to how the city Guard could think that two guys sharing a conversation over coffee was a dangerous fight. 

“Sir, I’m gonna need you to remain calm.” The first Guard said to Kronis. 

The Gar just crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the two Eternos city Guards, unamused and definitely, definitely calm. 

The Guard took a step back, one had drifting to their sidearm. “Sir, I’m gonna need you to keep your arms where I can see them.”

Kronis’ glare intensified, but he did uncross his arms. 

“Look, I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding.” Raq insisted. “I’m Raqquill Raqazz and I work in the palace. I’m the royal Beast Master, I train and care for all the palace animals.”

Raq started to reach for his ID. 

But the jumpy Guard pulled his sidearm on them. “Put your hands up!”

“Whoa!” Both Raq and Kronis exclaimed. They did as they were told and raised their hands up above their heads. 

“Search them.” Ordered the jumpy one with the weapon. 

Raq suppressed a humiliated groan as he had to stand there, with the rest of the café patrons watching them, as the Eternos city Guard stuck a hand in his loincloth, searching his pockets and belt pouch. 

“I can tell you which pocket my ID is in.” The Beastmen informed them. 

“They’re also searching for weapons.” Kronis reminded him. 

Raq was suddenly very glad he left his whip back in his room in the staff barracks at the palace. 

Finally, the Guard doing the search stepped away, holding Raq’s ID in one hand. “He is who he says he is. Raqquill Raquazz. Species: Beastmen, occupation: Beast Master. Works at the palace with the animals.”

Finally, the jumpy Guard lowered their weapon. The other one passed Raq’s ID back to him. 

“Try to be more mindful of your surroundings.” Said the jumpy one. “You might just be having a coffee with your boyfriend, but the people around you don’t know that. They just hear raised voices.”

Kronis -prudently- did not add a comment. He was remembering a time that Prince Randor and another Guard, Duncan, got into an all-out fist fight over the pronunciation of ‘chowder’, and no one bat an eyelash at them. But then, Prince Randor and his buddy-Guard Duncan were both lily-white humans. Kronis and Raqquill were just chatting over coffee and the city Guard was called. He could point out a what the defining difference in the situations was, but he wasn’t going to. Kronis took a long, loud, sip of his coffee instead. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Raq ground through clenched teeth that were supposed to be a smile. 

Kronis waited until the Guards left before he spoke again. “So… you serious about getting outta the city?”

“Yeah.” Agreed the Beastmen. Eternos just wasn’t the same now that Keldor was gone. “You serious about going back to the Burning Sands?”

“Yeah.” Kronis conformed. 

“Want some company?” Raq asked. 

…

The Burning Sands were exactly what Raq imagined. 

Sand. Fire. Heat. 

The place truly lived up to the name. 

A long corridor of loose rolling sands, in ombre tones of golden brown and charred black. The horizon made blurry by heat waves rising up off the ground. In any given direction a person looked, they would see at least one plume of flame burst up from under the sand. 

The desert of the burning sands sat on top of a large underground gas pocket. The pressure strong enough that it pushed the gas up out of the ground, and was ignited by the dessert’s heat, creating the jets of fire that gave the desert its name. 

It was kind of beautiful, in a primal, brutal sort of way. A gray sky clouded over by smoke and vapors from the fire-jets. Rolling sands of golden brown or charred black, the colors moving and dancing in the wind, making the dunes look like the churning waves of some sea after a storm. And the fire. Jets of heat and red light. The light sometimes caught on fragments of glass made by the buried vents. The glass acting like prisms and casting rainbows on the dunes. The Burning Sands were beautiful. 

No wonder Kronis liked it here. 

Raqquill was not so thrilled. It was, much hotter than the Vine Jungle, and the Beastmen’s thick fur was not meant for such harsh temperatures. More than once, Raq caught himself panting in an effort to cool down. Gar, like humans, could sweat to keep their bodies cool, but the Beastmen race did not possess that ability and Raq was hot and uncomfortable. 

They were in a Wind Raider that Kronis swore he did not steal from the palace. It was totally a gift from Keldor after the war. That’s why the royal crest on the side was scratched off. Nothing untoward about it at all. 

Raq wasn’t sure if he believed his friend or not, but using the Wind Raider had allowed them to make great time. Flying up from Eternos, and over the land bridge that connected the western continent to the Dark Continent. The Wind Raider was probably also the only thing keeping Raq from passing out from the heat. 

Kronis was keeping the vehicle at an altitude where they were high enough to enjoy the faster air currents that kept things cooler, but low enough that were weren’t flying through the semi-permanent layer of smoke and vapor that blanketed the Dark Hemisphere. Kronis called it the ‘Golden Line’. A narrow corridor of air that was just this-side of comfortable. 

“You ever been this far east before?” Kronis asked, shouting to make sure his voice was heard over the rushing air. 

The Beastmen shrugged. “The Ice Mountains once. During the Great Unrest.” 

Kronis just shook his head. The Ice Mountains were at Eternia’s northern polar cap, and while the range did -technically- extend into the eastern hemisphere, the half of the planet everyone unanimously agreed was the Dark Hemisphere, visiting the Ice Mountains was definitely not the same as visiting the Dark Continent. They were two very different kinds of ‘east’. 

Shaking his head, Kronis tilted the Wind Raider so that Raq’s side was dipped closer to the land. The Beastmen grabbed the dash with his paws to steady himself. 

“Don’t do that!” Raq snapped. 

Kronis ignored him. He leaned over his friend and pointed to something down below. 

With the way the Wind Raider was tilted, Raqquill had an unobstructed view of a vehicle of some kind parked on the sand. It had the large gear-tread feet of a tank, meant for rolling over a variety of terrains, but it wasn’t a tank. Half of the vehicle was taken up by two large tanks, and a large thick hose ran from one of the tanks down into the sand. 

“Gas harvester.” Kronis explained. “They’ve found an inactive vent and are using it to get under the surface and syphon out the gas. They won’t get as much as they would if they drilled their own shaft, but it’s safer and less likely to blow up in the faces.”

Kronis pulled up on the Wind Raider, then tilted the craft to the other side and pointed to a cloud of dust rolling towards them from the opposite direction as the gas minors. 

“And that’s a raiding party.” Kronis continued. “They’re moving fast, so they’ve probably already spotted the minors. There’ll be a fight and the raiders will either get a cash of freshly mined gas, plus the mining truck. Or else the minors will kill them all defending themselves and get a new pile of weapons for themselves.” He breathed in deeply and let it out as an admiring sigh. “Lawless. I really love it here.”

“Is it always so hot?” Raq asked. He was panting again. Even flying through the Golden Line, it was just a hair too warm for the Beastmen with his thick layer of fur. 

“You get used to it after a while.” Kronis assured him. “It’s not like the rest of Eternia that gets seasons. The cloud layer isn’t just clouds, is all the vapors and chemicals thrown up by the gas vents, or the volcanos. It traps in the heat making what should be winter warm. You’d think that with the sun blocked out it’d be cold anyway, but it’s not. It’s more like laying under a thermal blanket. All of your own heat is trapped and reflected back at you. Summer, winter, fall, spring, they all feel the same on the Dark Continent.”

“And people actually live here!?” The Beatmen could not believe it. 

“Oh, yeah!” Kronis assured him. “Lots of people do!”

He turned the Wind Raider again, heading south now. The coast came into view and Kronis followed the curve of it, taking them away from the Burning Sands. 

“I’ll buy you a drink in Porttown.”

…

Porttown was a settlement on the curve of the continent. Where the land coiled around for form a natural harbor. Several ships were moored in the harbor, either unloading goods from the western continent, or else awaiting new cargo to be loaded into their holds. 

Kronis brought the Wind Raider down on a semi-flat patch of dirt close to the harbor. It lacked any kind of official markings, and was not very well maintained, but its proximity to the shipping lanes implied that the area was meant as a landing for air vehicles. 

Before they got out, Kronis reached into the back for a box of tools. Then quickly removed the Wind Raider’s navigation console, steering stick, and communications system. He left all the wires hanging and exposed, to give the illusion that the parts were ripped out messily instead of removed carefully as they had been. The Com system and nav console he locked in the Wind Raider’s cargo trunk, the steeling stick Kronis stuck in his belt. 

“Are- are we in a bad neighborhood?” Raq asked, suddenly feeling unsafe. 

“Not for me.” Kronis assured him. 

He led the Beastmen to a tavern just off the harbor. The lighting inside was about as dim as the natural light outside, the floor boards creaked when anyone walked on them, some of the patrons’ chairs wobbled, and there was a distinct wet smell in the air. Although, whether that was from the sea-spray outside, or the drinks inside was unclear. Either way, it was a dive. No doubt about that. 

Kronis lead him to the bar and ordered them both the strongest drink the place had to offer. 

The bartender filled two tankards with something dark brown and frothy, and Kronis passed her four Eternos mint coppers for them. 

There were no empty tables, so Kronis kicked out a bar stool for Raqquill to sit down. They sat at the bar together. 

“So, are you just gonna go back to being a smuggler?” Raq asked over the bubbling froth of his drink. It had an earthy, bitter taste that was different from most grain alcohols and the Beastmen found himself wondering if it was a grain alcohol at all, or if it was made from something else that grew on the Dark Continent. “After Keldor pardoned you and made you a legitimate businessman.”

Kronis only shrugged. “The crime was always more fun. And besides, I was pardoned by Keldor. Who knows if that pardon is still gonna be honored now that he’s fallen from grace.”

Raq couldn’t argue with that logic. The mood and tone of the city seemed to change overnight after Keldor left. 

“There could be room in my crew for a beast Tamer.” Kronis offered. “If I’m ever moving live animals, your skills would be invaluable.”

The Beastmen made a slight groan of disapproval. As a general rule he didn’t approve of poaching, or keeping exotic animals in ecosystems that were not meant for them. But he also didn’t know what he was going to do now that he left his employment in Eternos. He didn’t want to turn down the offer his friend just made him. But he also didn’t wanna accept it either. 

Instead, Raq ran a finger around the rim of his tankard and asked, “What about the rest of the Dark Hemisphere? What’s farther east?”

Kronis shook his head. He lowered his tankard and wiped the froth from his mouth. “You don’t wanna go any farther east than the Dunes of Doom.” He warned. “That’s Snakemen territory. And there’s weird magic shit too. There’s a reason there’re so many superstitious idiots living in the Dark Hemisphere. There’s older magic farther east. Stuff left over from back when Eternia was still one continent. Curses, or old gods, or ancient evils… I donno, I’m not into magic, so I steer clear.”

“Princess-Consort Evelyn says she’s from the eastern part of the Dark Hemisphere.” Raq reminded him. “She’s from Zalesia.”

“You don’t have to call her ‘Princess-Consort’, she’s not here.” Kronis informed him. “We’ve been calling Keldor just ‘Keldor’. Anyway, she can say she’s from wherever. People say things all the time. But the only Zalesia I ever heard of is some shitty ruin in the middle of nowhere. Zalesia is just a pile of broken stones. No one lives there.”

“Oh.” Raq looked back down into the foam of his drink. It was thick, and fluffy, and hadn’t dissipated back into the fluid. No reflection looked back at him. “I wonder if Keldor knew that? He left Eternos to find her.”

Keldor did not ‘leave Eternos to find Evelyn’, he left Eternos because he was given the ultimatum leave or be arrested for the attempted murder of Prince Randor. He chose to try and meet up with his wife because he left Eternos. 

“He’ll figure it out.” Kronis muttered into his own drink. 

Someone else came up to them at the bar. “Hey, you’re back!”

Kronis turned around. He leaned against the bar and looked the newcomer up and down. They were a Beastmen, just a little shorter than Raqquill, with fox ears and boar tusks. Kronis had never seem them before him his life. “I supposed to know who the fuck you are?”

“I was part of the deck crew that sailed with you across the Harmony Sea.” They supplied, looking hurt that they weren’t recognized. “After you were banished from Eternos.”

Kronis raised one ebony black eyebrow. “Do you… think I’m Prince Keldor?”

There was the beat of a pause. 

The newcomer’s hand flew to their mouth in mortification. “Oh! Oh, Goddess! I just thought-“

“I get it, all Gar look the same to you.” Kronis growled. “Get lost, asshole.”

They turned to leave. 

Then paused and turned back. “It’s just that, Prince Keldor went east, deeper into the Dark Continent. Where things are still wild and the old gods still rule. I was afraid he wouldn’t come back. Then I saw you and I just-…” he trailed off. “I was just really looking forward to having a non-human King for once. Then Miro took that away from us.” A sigh. “I guess we’ll never see or hear about Prince Keldor again. Almost no one comes back from that far east.”

Raq looked up from his drink in alarm. “You think Keldor went out there to die?”

The Beastmen sailor just shrugged. “He did not seem to be in very optimistic when he disembarked. People usually only get off at the Dark Continent if they’ve got nothing left to lose.”

“Prince Keldor is a drama queen.” Kronis announced. “He probably went to look for a cliff he could look out from while the black cloud cover rolled behind him. Trust me, if nobody during the Great Unrest could kill him, he’s not gonna drop dead just because he went sight-seeing on the Dark Continent.”

“You don’t know that.” The Beastmen argued. 

“You don’t even know who the fuck I am.” Kronis reminded him. “You don’t know what I know.” He turned to Raqquill. “Can you believe this guy?”

Raq just cast a semi-apologetic look at the other Beastmen. It was true, this guy didn’t know who they were or what they knew. Didn’t know that they knew Prince Keldor personally. Fought alongside him during the Great Unrest and worked with him in the royal palace after. But still, Kronis didn’t have to be such an asshole about it. 

The Beastmen let out a low groan. 

“You still here?” Kronis snapped. “Shouldn’t you be on a boat somewhere? Go polish your mast!”

The Beastmen sailor walked away. 

Raq drained the last of the liquid in his drink, and set the still frothy tankard down on the bar. He opened his mouth to say something to his companion. 

But Kronis cut him off. “Now you wanna go farther east and look for Keldor, don’t you.”

Raq nodded. “I know you don’t wanna go. But… Keldor was the King I wanted to serve. Not just that, but I liked him. He was good to his cat, and Dylinx almost never allow themselves to be domesticated. The fact that Keldor had a Dylinx familiar says a lot for his character.”

Kronis drained his own drink. He stuck a finger in the glass and scooped out some of the overly thick froth. He was still licking it off his fingers when he asked, “And you think us going out there and finding him will… what? Suddenly make Keldor next in line to be King again?”

“No…” Raq admitted slowly. “But I don’t want him to die alone in the middle of nowhere thinking he’d been abandoned by all his friends or anyone who ever cared about him.”

“Ugh. What are you, his biggest fan?” His tone was taunting, but Kronis looked back into his empty tankard. 

His own reflection looked back at him from the glass bottom, glaring at him from behind the foam. He had been looking forward to having a Gar as the King for once. And he kinda liked Keldor too. He might be a fancy court-trained asshole, but he was an asshole. That made him endearing to Kronis. He was an asshole too. 

“We probably won’t ever find him.” Kronis announced, speaking more to the bottom of his glass than to Raq. “But we can take the Wind Raider and head east.”


End file.
